At twenty, I danced with death and found
impermanence disturbing. When again sound
and healthy, I reluctantly pondered how
my postponed death should come, and now
I'm far too sane and cowardly to crave
the pain that buys a hero's hallowed grave.
I favor calm ambush of death in sleep,
but not until I'm old and bored. I keep
enjoying death deferred in bits and pieces.
Supplies of forged body parts increases
while need of them, reluctant realize.
Although I mourn as my body dies,
it's less of me, and more technology.
Dying piece by piece now seems to me
the ideal way to go. As they excise
my worn out parts, replacements do suffice.
With death delayed by using proxy parts,
who can tell when my funerary starts.
I know and grasp an increasing degree
of death. When they finally agree
that most of me has stopped and gone,
what remains? Will part of me continue on?